


Steamers and Startups

by grrlpup



Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-05 20:21:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17331698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grrlpup/pseuds/grrlpup
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged that people with jobs, whether or not they are yet in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of coffee.





	1. Chapter 1

It is a truth universally acknowledged that people with jobs, whether or not they are yet in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of coffee.

When a new worker, let alone an entirely new business, enters the vicinity, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding shopkeepers that each newcomer need only be issued a punch-card, and perhaps an attractively logoed travel mug for to-go orders.

“Did you get a notice, Ben?” Fran flipped through the sheaf of unopened mail. “It looks like the main building is finally leased!”

“Hm.”

“Carla told me,” Fran went on. “It popped up in the listing system over at Luca’s. Sometimes I wish I’d gone into real estate.”

Her husband, texting, didn’t answer.

Fran slapped the mail down on the counter. “Are you not even curious?”

“Sure,” said Ben, not looking up.

This, Fran knew, was as good as she was going to get. “Carla googled it, and she says it’s one of those big shared offices, where startups and creatives set up when they need the very latest technology, and they share conference rooms and all that. Backlot, it’s called. I wonder if they have Hollywood connections!”

Ben offered no opinion.

“Anyway, they’re having all the wiring done, contractors are over there now. Oh, the girls will be pleased!”

“Why?” said Ben. “Are they creatives?”

“Ha, ha,” replied Fran. “It’s a new source of regulars, maybe interesting ones, mostly young and cute! We’ll get a more authentic coffee-shop feel.” She gestured around the nearly empty Long Bean. “There’s only so much you can do in a strip mall with a handful of stodgy businesses and the rest of your customers stopping in off the highway.”

“Well,” said Ben. “Kind of this outfit to bolster the Long Bean brand, then.”

“Well, they might. You need to play the odds, Ben. I thought you were good at that.” Fran tapped the table. “Go meet the Backlot owners, as soon as you can.”

“Me? Why don’t you go do a dog-and-pony show? Or send the girls around with samples-- they’re the ones who will be behind the counter. A bait-and-switch might disappoint the Backlot crew.”

“Yeah, I don’t think they’d be disappointed,” Fran said. “The girls do better at the tip jar than I would, I’m sure.”

They worked in silence for thirty seconds.

“Really, though,” Fran said. “Go over there and see what’s happening!”

“I’ll pass.”

“You know Bill at the deli will stop by, and he’s usually such an old crank,” Fran said. “I’ll look like a busybody if I go. It’s different for a man.”

“You could take trading cards with the baristas’ photos, along with your samples,” Ben said. “Put Lizzy’s on top.”

“Lizzy? What’s so special about Lizzy? Jane’s got the looks. And Lydia’s the friendliest. Lizzy?”

“She’s quick,” Ben said. “The coffee isn’t cold by the time she gets it to you.”

“Not fair!” Fran said indignantly. “Oh, you have no idea what it takes to run this business.”

“How can that be? You’ve been telling me daily for years.”

“You have no idea how much goes into it,” Fran repeated darkly.

“Then let’s hope that plenty comes out of it, and we see the whole block filled with caffeine-deprived workers and customers.”

“Who will all be crabby and thirsty since no one told them about the Long Bean.”

“Once the strip mall’s filled up, I’ll go door to door and visit them all.”

Ben was so odd a mixture of sports trivia, good cheer, and misanthropy that Fran still found herself faintly surprised he’d 1) married her and 2) agreed to open something as mundane as a coffee shop. Of course, he spent most of his time online anyway, following the sports news and setting up his bit of gambling. Fran preferred orderly figures lined up in a ledger, though they did have a distressing tendency to dance around as people and events had their way. Well, she liked to think she was sensitive enough to see around the next bend, anyway. The business of her life was the Long Bean; her solace was the neighbors, customers, and baristas that swirled through it.


	2. Chapter 2

Ben Long was one of the first neighbors to meet Lee Bing, owner of Backlot, Inc. He had aimed his customary smoke breaks in that direction for days, never letting on to Fran, and didn’t say a word until midmorning on the day after the encounter. Observing Lizzy employed in icing sugar cookies, he picked one up and tilted it to the light.

“Swirl the colors more, Lizzy. I expect Lee Bing and the Backlot crowd prefer their cookies to be artistic.”

“Put that down,” Fran said over her shoulder. “Don’t listen, Lizzy. Everyone’s a critic, especially when they haven’t lifted a finger to meet Lee Bing, or anyone in his so-called crowd.”

“He’ll be at next month’s business park happy hour,” Lizzy said. “Carla said she’d introduce him to everyone.”

“Oh, Carla,” Fran said waspishly. “She can’t go two seconds without mentioning she’s in the _hospitality_ industry. I hate how she has to be the grand hostess wherever she goes.”

“Terrible,” agreed Ben. “Introducing people. Smiling! She’ll probably try to buy you a drink when she knows quite well it’s a no-host bar.” He shook his head. “The nerve.”

Fran pursed her lips but did not reply. She cast a glance around the shop, where the morning-shift baristas were replenishing the pastries, straightening chairs, and wiping down the chrome. “Kitty!” Fran said. “Your cough sounds horrible. I hope you weren’t working the register like that.”

“Confine your coughing to the food, please, Kitty,” said Ben.

“It sounds awful,” Fran repeated, frowning at her.

“Gee, thanks,” Kitty said when she could breathe again, and turned pointedly to Lizzy. “When’s the happy hour again?”

“Week from Thursday,” Lizzy said. “Will Backlot even be open by then?”

“That’s the day after Carla’s back from Hawaii,” Fran said. “There’s no way she’ll be friends with Lee Bing yet. If they’ve even met.”

“We can introduce them, then,” Ben remarked. He had pulled out his phone and stood scrolling.

“The whole point is that _we_ don’t know him!” Fran said. “Is it too much to ask that you tune in to your own conversations?”

“You’re right, we shouldn’t presume to know someone after a week and a half,” Ben said. “But is Carla going to stand on ceremony? I can see Lee Bing now, trapped in her office with a little styrofoam cup of coffee from the urn.”

Fran ignored him.

“Powdered creamer.”

“Why are you still talking?” Fran said.

“Well,” Ben said mildly. “We’re talking about talking. Long Bean is a social venue. Mary, aren’t you a communications major? Give us your take on Lee Bing and the Backlot crew.”

Mary’s mind raced, but the only idea she could articulate immediately was that Lee Bing and the Backlots wasn’t a terrible name for a band. In silence she continued wiping down the sugar and cinnamon shakers.

“While Mary collects her thoughts,” Ben continued, “let’s return to Lee Bing for a second.”

“Do _not_ _say_ the name Lee Bing one more time,” Fran said.

“Of course,” Ben said. “Sorry. I mean, he’s going to find it strange if I never say his name again after our long chat yesterday, but I’ll think of something…”

Nothing brought Ben satisfaction like double takes, and he got them from everyone. Fran’s was the sweetest, of course, though she caught herself almost immediately, and punched his arm.

“Sneaky,” she said. “Very funny.” She was smiling. “I knew you’d do it. I can feel it, this place is going to buzz soon! A real community.”

She was about to launch into her first round of questions about Lee Bing, but Ben dropped his phone into the pocket of his trousers. “Cough wherever you like, Kitty, we’re all family now,” he said drily, and made his escape.

Fran looked after him. “He does care about Long Bean,” she told the baristas. “He wouldn’t have gone over to Backlot on his own account. How about you, Lydia, are you ready for a new upscale clientele?”

“May bean sure!” Lydia said. At sixteen, she was both the newest and the youngest of the baristas, and was only in first-year French at school.

The rest of the slow stretch until lunch (for those few customers who might want a bagel for lunch, as the Long Bean was not a soup or sandwich establishment) was spent in speculation upon the upcoming drink orders of Lee Bing and company once they appeared, and discussion of what samples should be at the ready.


	3. Chapter 3

But no matter how Fran and the baristas quizzed Ben, he seemed unable or unwilling to relate a vivid impression of Bing Lee. They tried factual questions, “what kind of tree would he be,” imaginary gift shopping, and stern constabular-style requests for a description, but his answers were vague, obscure, or nonexistent.

There was, at least, Luca’s report. She had of course looked up all the details on Backlot’s space and the lease thereof, but more to the point, Bing Lee had been lovely to her and her husband. He was quite young, enthusiastic, good-looking, and was bringing part of his team with him to the business park happy hour! Nothing brings people together like a potluck—business park happy hour was always held at a nearby taproom with space for private parties, and bringing food was encouraged—and the prospects of new and abundant treats were good.

“Long Bean and Backlot are going to have a wonderful symbiosis, I know it,” Fran said to Ben. “Maybe one of the baristas will end up working there! They’re all going to fly away and make their dreams come true eventually, you know. This will be the start.”

A few days later, Bing Lee swung by the Long Bean and shot the breeze with Ben—only with Ben, since the shop had closed for the day and Fran was out. The baristas, however, were not above perusing the security camera’s footage the next day, and noted that Bing wore a retro denim jacket, and rode a black fixie he leaned up against the shop windows before he went inside.

Fran went so far as to print a custom coupon for free food item and beverage, and dropped it in the We Work mail slot. She was jotting a list of pastries she wanted in the case and bagels to be saved out (if supplies ran low), when the mail carrier brought along with the mail the unwelcome news that Bing Lee had left town and put a stop on Backlot’s mail for the next week.

“He just got here,” Fran complained to Luca. “You can’t run a business that way! What if this is some fly-by-night operation, with shady characters and mail forwarding…”

Luca had more faith in the power of leases, and proposed that Bing Lee was probably on a recruiting trip, to convince the best creatives from the city that life was simpler and creativity more likely to blossom in an environment like theirs. Who knew what geniuses and go-getters would appear with him at the business park happy hour!

Some of the baristas took this notion to heart and wondered if they should double or even triple the recipes for their potluck contributions. But Lizzy and Mary pointed out that the problem wasn’t insufficient food, when a potluck’s population increased—it was that no dish could be sampled by all. Anyway, it turned out that when Bing Lee walked into the taproom, he brought only a few others with him. One was a young woman with a camera, Caroline, whom Bing introduced as his social media and marketing manager. Another was his fraternity brother Louis who had invested in Backlot from the start; beside Louis was his wife Ursula. Rounding out the group was another young woman, named Darcy.

Lee Bing was at home and happily so, immediately. Caroline and Louis were shiny sorts of people; Caroline snapped photos and Louis was in many of them in his well-cut jacket. Ursula fit in; you could easily forget she hadn’t been to this happy hour before. Darcy, tall with long glossy hair, looked around and somehow made the rest of the room look back, a little stunned. Word went around before she’d been there five minutes that she was a brilliant designer.

Indeed, Darcy was the object of everyone’s admiration for about half an hour, until opinion turned: she was sulky, she wasn’t enjoying herself, and being a genius didn’t make up for it. She was certainly no Bing Lee.

Bing sampled every potluck offering and unreservedly loved them all. He bemoaned the finite capacity of his stomach. Backlot, he declared, needed a potluck element in its perquisites as soon as possible.

Darcy had a few kettle chips from the bag Louis had put on the table, and one of the fancy radish roses Caroline had produced (and photographed on their plate before offering up). That was it. She spent the rest of the time inspecting the taproom’s beer list, walking the room’s perimeter, and speaking occasionally to one of the Backlot group. All was clear. She was the proudest, most disagreeable creature in the world, and everybody hoped she would never come again. Fran, in particular, was disgusted by what Darcy said about Lizzy.

Lizzy had been observing a strategic rest break between main course and desserts. She was walking back from filling her water bottle at the drinking fountain when she overheard a conversation between Darcy and Bing, who was coaxing his friend to eat and make friends.

“Come on, Darcy,” he said. “It’s happy hour! You look so miserable driving around by yourself like this. Come try some of the food.”

“Uh, _no_ ,” said Darcy. “I like to know where my food comes from. In a place like this I have no idea. The chips are gone and I _really_ don’t want whatever these people made.”

“It’s a potluck, Darcy! Deviled eggs, brie— the spinach dip is freaking amazing.”

“That brownie you’re holding is the only food I’ve seen here that isn’t completely frightening,” said Darcy.

“It’s incredible,” Bing said fervently. “Jane says there’s hardly flour in it. And the crackly layer on top! But I know, you don’t have a sweet tooth… one of the other baristas brought a spicy hummus you could try.”

“Where?” Darcy scanned the table for the hummus, which was Lizzy’s contribution. Her gaze landed on Lizzy briefly before returning to Bing. “It looks okay, but why is there so much left? If you want me to like potluck food, don’t start with potluck _rejects_.” She shooed Bing away. “Go eat another brownie.”

Bing followed this advice. Darcy set off for another lap of the perimeter, and Lizzy took a swig from her water bottle, beyond unimpressed. She couldn’t help seeing the funny side of it all, however, and by the time she rejoined the other baristas and office assistants, she’d worked up a killer Darcy impression.

All the business park tenants had a great time. Fran thought Jane positively glowed as she served more brownies to the Backlot contingent. Lizzy was happy for her. Mary heard that Caroline had asked about the music playing on the room’s sound system--a playlist Mary had arduously assembled with attention to key, duration, beats per minute, and several other factors. Kitty and Lydia stuffed themselves, which was all they required for satisfaction at a work party.

Fran always unlocked the Long Bean after happy hour so the baristas could unwind, and stow leftovers or wash dishes if they so desired. To their surprise, Ben was there, updating the spreadsheet of baseball stats he kept on his laptop.

“That Bing Lee not worth all the build-up?” he greeted Fran. “Ah well.”

Fran scarcely heard him, as she had entered the room talking. “Best business park happy hour _ever_ ,” she said. “You should have come! Jane’s brownies were out of this world, I’m sure there’s none left. Bing Lee could not stop talking about them. He ate two, at _least_ two, and didn’t have seconds of anything else. He started off with that bizarre Jello salad Luca’s assistant Charlotte always brings, I don’t know why. And of course he didn’t like it, no one does, but it was right next to the brownies on the table, and he was all ‘who brought these?’ and someone told him it was Jane, and he took the biggest one I think. Then he had some of the brie, and the fresh pineapple--Luca’s other assistant always brings _that_ , do you think it’s a statement, since fresh pineapple is the only thing that can’t go in jello? And then he had two _more_ brownies! And some of Lizzy’s spicy hummus, it went so well with the beer of the day--”

“If he had any compassion for _me_ ,” Ben said, “he would have stopped with one plateful of food. Please, Fran! I wish he’d felt a bit queasy and stuck to saltines.”

“He’s charming!” Fran said. “His investor and social media guru too. Caroline’s look is so cutting edge. Her shoes--”

Here she was interrupted again. Ben did not, he declared, traffic in lists of clothing. Fran moved on to Lizzy’s run-in with Darcy, and managed an imitation of Lizzy’s imitation that exceeded it in feeling if not wit nor accuracy.

“I’m glad Lizzy didn’t care,” Fran said. “She shouldn’t care! About someone who doesn’t seem to understand what a potluck is. _Or_ a happy hour. I wish you had been there to say something sarcastic, Ben. She was awful.”


End file.
